


We're no good at doing what we're told

by stinkyworms, TheWholeEatingBreadThing



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bullying, Gen, Homophobia, Human AU, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Teen AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26016175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stinkyworms/pseuds/stinkyworms, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWholeEatingBreadThing/pseuds/TheWholeEatingBreadThing
Summary: They’d driven in silence, save for the white-noise-like quality of the radio, until reaching the house, where her dad had pulled the car into the driveway to find the teenager sat on their porch. He had his knees tucked to his chest as he stared at his lap, his fingers tapping anxiously against his shins. Even with the distance, Lydia could see that his hair was a mess; a shock of dirty greyish purple that stood almost cartoonishly on end.Human!Beej AU where Beetlejuice still ends up crashing into Lydia's life while trying to run away from his own.
Relationships: Beetlejuice & Lydia Deetz
Comments: 25
Kudos: 96





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaborative fic between [Stinkyworms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stinkyworms) and [Sporks AKA TheWholeEatingBreadThing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWholeEatingBreadThing)
> 
> We hope you like it!

It’s not every day you find a homeless-looking teenager standing in the front lawn of the house you’d moved into a few weeks back. The very old, very sketchy house you’d moved into a few weeks back. The kind of house that was either haunted or very good at pretending to be. Lydia thought the former, Delia as well, her dad thought they were both crazy.

He wasn’t far off, Delia _was_ crazy, Lydia was sure of it. Sure, she may have claimed she was ‘spiritual’ but by Lydia’s standards, if you talked to rocks, you were plain old insane, even if said rocks were sparkly.

On top of being one sandwich short of a picnic, Delia was insufferable. The kind of person who claimed that depression was ‘just a phase’ or that having a dead mom was something one could ‘get over'. As if it were a hurdle in a running race instead of the loss of a fucking family member.

Lydia wasn’t the only one to blame for her hatred, the disdain for one another was mutual, to say the least. Her dad knew this, which brought them to the problem: He decided, against his better judgment, that enforced bonding time was in order, and that if Lydia and her stepmother got to know one another, everything would go much smoother for the family—if you could even call it that.

Yeah, real fucking likely. Lydia would rather chew her own arm off and dive off a cliff into shark-infested waters.

Still, it was decided that every Sunday afternoon, the three of them would spend time together as a ‘family’. Delia had gone along with it because, well, Lydia assumed it was because she genuinely wanted her dad to like her, and Lydia because she had no other option. Believe her, she’d tried to get out of it more than once.

That afternoon, they’d gone out for brunch. Lydia had almost enjoyed herself as she’d spouted graphic retellings of various children’s fairy tales, watching as her stepmother grew increasingly uncomfortable and eventually declared brunch was over an hour early.

Intent on avoiding Delia, Lydia had sat in the back of the car. She ignored the way her stepmother would occasionally glance back at her with the careful eye of a preschool teacher looking after a particularly problematic child.

They’d driven in silence, save for the white-noise-like quality of the radio, until reaching the house, where her dad had pulled the car into the driveway to find the teenager sat on their porch. He had his knees tucked to his chest as he stared at his lap, his fingers tapping anxiously against his shins.

Even with the distance, Lydia could see that his hair was a mess; a shock of dirty greyish purple that stood almost cartoonishly on end. His clothes were worn; an oversized hoodie and jeans. Additionally, he carried a ratty backpack over one shoulder.

As the vehicle pulled into the driveway, the guy turned in their direction and Lydia got a good look at his face. Despite the unkempt stubble and dark circles around his eyes, he didn’t look more than a few years older than her. He hesitated for a moment and then began to approach the car.

“Wait here. Delia, lock the doors, I’ll handle this,” Her father said, as he pulled the car into a stop.

Delia obediently pushed the car lock button as Charles got out. Lydia, rolled down her window a crack so she could eavesdrop. Delia shot her a look but didn’t argue, and Lydia sensed she wanted to know what was going on too.

“Can I help you?” Her father asked as the stranger got within earshot.

Now that he was close, Lydia could see how nervous the man looked. He was holding a piece of paper that had clearly been handled roughly enough that it was wrinkled and frayed at the edges. Lydia noticed that her father didn’t offer his hand like he normally did with the men in suits he constantly introduced her to.

“I’m looking for the Maitlands,” The stranger said, a little too loudly, “I’m their… I know them. It says they live here.”

He held out the piece of paper at Charles. Lydia couldn’t make out what it said from her vantage point in the car. The stranger fidgeted with the front of his shirt while Charles took a second to scan it over. For a second, he made eye contact with Lydia in the car but quickly broke it off again. He looked pale, and a little greasy, and Lydia wondered whether he was ill or if that was normal for him.

“They don’t live here anymore,” Charles said, handing back the paper, “We bought this house la-.”

“Do you know where they went?” The stranger cut her dad off. He clutched the paper to his chest like it was a lifeline, “I really need to find them.”

“As far as I know, they died,” Charles said, then quickly added, “I’m sorry.”

Lydia noted the familiar lack of any real emotion in her father’s voice when the topic of death was brought up, and couldn’t help but roll her eyes in annoyance.

“Fuck,” The stranger said, loudly enough that Lydia saw Delia flinch in the corner of her eye.

He looked like he was trying to suppress a panic attack, or maybe vomit, as he brought his hands up to rub at his face.

“Well, if there’s nothing else…” Charles continued, obviously wanting to get this stranger off his front yard.

The guy didn’t seem to be taking the hint though. He continued to stand there, rubbing at his eyes and muttering to himself, too low for Lydia to hear what he was saying.

Charles was clenching and unclenching his fists, probably about to say something even less sympathetic and unsubtle, and Lydia decided she’d had enough. She clicked open the lock on her door and stepped out.

“Is there someone we can call for you?” She asked.

At that, the stranger took a heavy step backward, glancing back in the direction of the street. Lydia didn’t see what she’d done to frighten him, he was on the shorter side, sure, but he was stocky and Lydia knew he’d have no problem beating her in a fight. The guy took a breath, the desperate panicked sort of breath that usually came between sobs.

“Don’t,” he started, still too loud. Lydia couldn’t help but let her eyes drift to Charles, who was looking more threatening by the second, his face like it was carved from stone as he eyed the man. “I mean—” he continued, fumbling with the cuffs of his hoodie. “Sure, my kind of aunt is dead so that’s a bit of a blow, but I'm uh—I didn’t even know her that well, really. I mean. I knew her, sort of, I'm not a creep or anything I swear. You guys seem nice, I guess, how did they—”

He clamped a hand over his mouth, his cheeks going red as he dropped his gaze to his feet. All at once, the tension seemed to go out of him. Lydia couldn’t help but wonder what kind of family he had to be a part of for no one to have told him that his aunt and uncle had passed.

“Sorry,” he said. And then, in a small voice; “do you know what happened to them?”

For the first time during the duration of the conversation, her dad’s face softened into something resembling less of a slightly-terrifying glare. It wasn’t much, Lydia knew, in fact, she’d bet money that the stranger hadn’t noticed it at all, but there was a semblance of human emotion, however slight, in her father’s eyes.

“It wasn’t disclosed,” Charles said.

The guy swiped a grimy hand over his eyes. He wasn’t crying, not yet, but he looked like he was about to. “Mom would love this,” he muttered to himself, and Lydia got the sense that he wasn’t talking to anyone but himself.

“Here,” Charles said, pausing to pull his wallet out of his pocket. “I'm sorry about your aunt.”

It didn’t sound anywhere near genuine, was what Lydia was thinking, and judging by the obvious mistrust the stranger held towards Charles, the skittishness, Lydia didn’t think the offering of a twenty-dollar bill would mean much.

She was wrong.

He looked at the money in Charles’ outstretched hand, up at his face, then at Lydia, his eyebrows furrowed like he couldn’t quite figure out if it was some sort of elaborate trick. Almost automatically Lydia felt herself nod. Clearly, he trusted her more than he trusted her father.

The man blinked, nodded, before snatching the money and stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans.

“Thanks,” he muttered, staring off towards the house. “Bye Maitlands,” he gave a lazy wave in the direction of the front door before, thankfully, starting down the lawn.

As if by some unspoken rule, the three of them stayed completely silent until he was gone. The only sound was the crunch of the guy’s sneakers, the car door opening and closing as Delia exited the vehicle, shaking herself off as if to clear herself of his negative energy (which, knowing Delia, that was exactly what she was doing.)

Lydia was the first to break the almost unsettling silence.

“You think he’ll be okay?” She asked.

“Sure,” Charles replied, and Lydia could tell he was already putting the incident out of his mind. “He’s young, he’s got time to pull his act together.”

“You didn’t think it was weird, him showing up here all alone? Did people really die in this house? Do you think it was a _murder-suicide_?” She asked, as her mind was flooded with questions.

For all her love of the paranormal, Lydia would’ve liked to know if someone— _multiple someones_ , as it had been a couple—had died in her house. She would’ve pulled out Dead Mom’s old ouija board if she’d known.

As Charles opened his mouth to answer, Delia cut him off with her endless rambling. “So young,” She said, ignoring Lydia completely, “And he clearly wasn't in a good headspace, I’m sensing great loss.”

“No shit,” Lydia couldn’t help but blurt. “He just found out his aunt died. I can’t imagine how _awful_ it would be to lose someone _close to you_ and have no one to _share it with_.”

She didn’t care about the probably-high-as-balls homeless weirdo. Not really. Not when she had to listen to her dad and Delia droning on about how much as a mess the guy had been. Lydia missed her mom, mostly, and if she had things her way she’d already be back in her room.

So yeah, she didn’t give a shit about the stranger.

That was, until her eye caught on the slip of paper he’d been holding earlier, clutching it to his chest as if it was a life preserver. It was upside down so she couldn’t read the lettering she knew adorned the opposite side. And, as her dad and Delia started towards the house, she knelt down and picked it up, carefully reading over the cursive font.

“Lydia,” her dad called. “Come back to the house, I want you inside in case he decides to come back.”

“Coming, dad,” she replied, still holding the wedding invitation crumpled in her fist.

A photograph of a smiling couple she didn't recognize in a picturesque woodland scene looked back at her. It was a wedding invitation. _We invite you to the union of Adam and Barbara Maitland_ , dated five years back. On the backside, she found her address (or the Maitlands ex-address) scrawled in spidery cursive, added after the invitation had been sent out. And in newer ink, red this time, the address had been underlined twice, as if whoever had done it was trying to remind themself it even existed.

Well shit.

Like it or not, Lydia already knew she was going to try and find him.

⁂

Most of the time Lydia hated living in a small town where everybody knew each other; even if she hadn’t been a newcomer, she would’ve stuck out like a sore thumb with her ‘unusual fashion choices’, as Charles called them. And sure, her sense of style was more than slightly offbeat but Lydia knew it only got worse when people got around to actually having a conversation with her. She was abrasive and blunt at the best of times, something that her dad’s many business associates never took well to, and the overly welcoming neighbors felt the same way. Not that Lydia cared much about any of that when she hardly left the house.

That night, Lydia slowly pulled open her bedroom door, creeping out into the hallway. She paused when the top step squeaked loudly as she set her weight on it.

It was right around dinnertime, her dad and Delia were stationed in the kitchen talking quietly as they did the dishes. They’d move to the family room soon, she knew, maybe watch a movie before retiring to their bedroom for the night.

Lydia wasn’t really sure why she was doing this, or what the plan even was, but the spark of teenage rebellion as she snuck past the kitchen to the back door spurred her on. It was like being in a shitty teen movie.

The door clicked behind her, and she was outside. It was almost too easy. But when your parental figures basically ignore you most of the time, it made it a lot easier to sneak around. Still, she tried to continue to be stealthy as she moved to the front porch, where her bike was kept.

She had gotten to know the winding country roads of Winter River pretty well over the last couple months. After a rocky start, Lydia had settled into somewhat of a routine and had actually begun to enjoy the independence living in a more rural area gave her, as opposed to her father insisting he drove her everywhere in the city. The journey to the town center didn’t take long, but the tips of Lydia's fingers were already getting cold in the rapidly cooling Autumn weather.

There wasn’t much to see in the center, a small park, a few restaurants, and a fancy food store Delia insisted they buy overpriced cucumber water from. There was pretty much no nightlife, as everyone here seemed to be the type to turn in at 9pm every night. Therefore, Lydia assumed if the guy was still in town, he wouldn’t be too hard to find.

It didn't take long for her to be proven right. She found him on the bench of the bus stop on the main road, with his hands tucked under his armpits for warmth. He was staring vacantly down the road and didn’t seem to notice her approaching on her bike.

“Busses don't run after 8pm here,” Lydia said, getting his attention.

“Oh,” was all he replied, looking up at her with furrowed eyebrows. He looked confused as to why she had tracked him down which, if Lydia was being totally honest, she wasn’t entirely sure either.

“Just one of the many tortures of living in the countryside,” Lydia continued dramatically, “It’s a never-ending nightmare.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and Lydia felt proud she had managed to get that out of him. Emboldened, Lydia pulled the invitation out of her pocket and held it up. His eyebrows shot up.

“You’re Lawrence Shoggoth?” She asked.

“What’s this? An interrogation?” He shot back, “I’m kind of going through a lot right now, so unless you’re going to tell me you’ve resurrected my aunt or find me a bench that doesn’t immediately numb my ass, I don’t care.”

“All out of resurrection spells I’m afraid,” Lydia was sure the look on her face was nothing short of incredulous, “You’re going to stay here? All night?”

Against her better judgment, she joined him on the bench, close enough that she could smell him, cigarettes, and old sweat. She winced and subtly shifted further away.

“Not like I’ve got any other options,” he muttered, his wide eyes darting between her face and his feet. He opened his mouth again, shut it.

It wouldn’t be polite to ask, but well, it was obvious that he wasn’t a threat. Something about him was strangely pitiful, and Lydia had the sense that he was far more disquieted by her presence than she was by his. And maybe that was why she was unable to stop herself from blurting out the question.

“I’ve never seen you before,” she said, and she’d been in Winter River long enough that she knew _everyone_. “You from Hartford?”

“New York, actually,” he said, not sounding particularly thrilled by the notion. “It’s shit, by the way.”

 _He’d_ clearly never tried living in Winter River. “So, what? You must’ve missed them pretty badly to come all this way looking for them.” Her gaze landed on the invitation.

It was hard not to notice the way he seemed to curl in on himself as she spoke, shoving the end of his sleeve in his mouth so his words were muffled, “Whatever. Shut up. So what if I did? It’s not like I got kicked out by my mom and have nowhere to go except an address on the back of a stupid wedding invite. Or something.”

Lydia stared at him, silently, an eyebrow raised. It didn’t take long for him to crack, and once he started talking it seemed like he was unable to stop himself, his arms flying wildly to emphasize each word.

“Yeah, okay, fine. I got kicked out by my mom. She said she’d finally had enough of me. And I kinda had it in my head that I could show up here and the Maitlands would help me out. Which was stupid because they just up and died and didn’t even have the courtesy to tell me,” He huffed, “And now I’m stuck here, spilling my guts to some emo teen and I’m not gonna be able to go back home and-”

“I’m a goth,” Lydia corrected him, “And my name’s Lydia.”

“Lydia,” He parroted back to her, then added a “Sorry.”

He had gone back to the hunched over posture from before, no longer looking at her and instead staring down at the ground. Lydia wondered if he thought she was genuinely offended at him getting her chosen subculture wrong or if he was just back to feeling sorry for himself.

“Sorry your mom sucks,” Lydia said, in her best attempt to try and seem empathetic, which generally was not her strong suit.

He snorted, and looked back at her, any trace of his previous melancholy gone again. A goofy smile in its place. He seemed to be capable of switching moods rapidly, and Lydia wondered in the back of her mind whether Delia was right, and he was on some kind of drug. Still, Lydia could feel the temperature around her dropping rapidly, and she didn’t think she could just leave him here on a metal bench to freeze to death in the cold October air. If he was a corpse by tomorrow morning, Lydia didn’t think she would be able to live with herself.

“Well you aren’t getting back to New York tonight so… We have a spare room,” Lydia said, before really thinking it through, “You can crash there if you like… Just for one night, though.”

The reaction was immediate. His face split into a large grin that showed all his teeth, and Lydia didn’t have time to react before one large arm was wrapped around her, pulling her close into his side. The smell of old sweat and cigarettes was strong enough that she had to hold her breath as she wriggled out of his grasp. When she had managed to get free, he at least had the self-awareness to look a little embarrassed, even if he was still smiling.

“Just one night,” She repeated, “You’ve gotta leave tomorrow.”

“Right, right. You won’t even notice I’m there. I swear,” He crossed his hand over his heart for good measure.

Lydia wasn’t sure whether she should believe him or not. But she wasn’t one to break promises, and she really didn’t think he had any better options. Lydia hopped off the bench, suddenly very aware of how cold it had been on her legs, and picked up her bike. She felt Lawrence looming behind her, and tried not to let it bother her as she set off walking back towards her house.

“Oh and, um, since we’re friends now and all,” He said, sounding less confident than his words would suggest, “You don’t have to call me Lawrence. That’s what… I prefer BJ. It’s my middle name. Sort of.”

“Sure,” Lydia said, not really ready to question why he preferred something so stupid sounding.

The way back to the house took far longer than the short bike ride there. For one, Lydia hadn’t ever, in her wildest dreams, assumed she’d be bringing the homeless, possibly drug-addled creep back to her house, which meant she now had to wheel her bike beside her. For another, said homeless, possibly drug-addled creep was chronically unable to shut up. It seemed like the longer he spent in her presence, the more he began to open up.

At least he walked fast, fast enough that Lydia had to almost trot to keep up with him, dodging the occasional wild gesticulation.

“You sure your parents aren’t going to shit bricks?” BJ said as if he hadn’t repeated some variant of the same question about ten times now. “‘Cause no offense, but they seemed like massive tight asses.”

He wasn’t wrong.

“They’ll only freak if we get caught,” she said with a shrug, trying to appear more confident than she actually was. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how pissed Charles would be if he found out she’d taken in a random teenager, especially a random teenager who was...well, Lydia hadn’t known him long but she could already social awkwardness was the least of his problems.

“Besides, my stepmom doesn’t count,” she added. “And my dad’s been...weird since we moved here.”

BJ nodded, wrapping his arms around himself to combat the chill. For once, he didn’t have a response. Lydia figured it would be best to stay away from talking about family entirely. At the very least, she had parents—guardians, in the case of Delia—who gave just enough of a shit about her that she’d never end up in his situation.

The remainder of the walk home was spent in silence, or, not silence, Lydia didn’t think BJ could do silence. He continued to mutter under his breath, quietly enough that she had no idea what he was saying; she didn’t much care either when it was obvious that whatever he was saying was more of the nervous gibberish variant than anything else.

By the time they reached the house, Lydia was starting to wonder if she’d made a mistake. If her father and Delia were still awake, the sound of the front door opening would be enough to send them running downstairs. Her dad would be angry, angry enough to call the police

“So,” she said, intent on breaking the uncomfortable quiet. “You hungry?”

“I could eat.” It was obvious that he was doing his best to be polite, even if it sounded somewhere between anxious and demanding.

He looked at her somewhat suspiciously as she pulled the door open, careful not to let the old hinges make even the slightest sound. Luck was on her side and she was able to carefully step onto the carpet, glancing in the direction of the living room to ensure that nobody had seen her.

Lydia let out a sigh of relief when she found the lights off and the room empty.

“C’mon,” she said, grabbing his sleeve before she could stop himself. He’d been chewing on it earlier, she noticed, as it was slightly damp. He winced as her fingers made contact with his hand, pulling it back as though he’d been burned.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “You surprised me, that’s all.”

She shrugged. “Alright, weirdo.”

The kitchen was towards the back of the house. When they had first moved in, nobody had done much cooking, there was an unspoken uncomfortableness over the fact that Emily had done much of the cooking before. Delia had tried her hand at a few things, but most of them had been a few more grains of salt from disaster. Thankfully, for both Lydia and her father’s health, she had massively improved once she put her mind to it. She wasn’t a good cook by any definition of the words and _insisted_ on everything involving some kind of ‘superfood’ ingredient, but at least Lydia stopped having to convince her dad to order takeout every time her stepmom attempted to cook something that wasn’t oatmeal.

Tonight had been a vegan lasagna which, after the addition of a little hot sauce, was perfectly palatable, by Delia standards. Besides, as the only thing that could easily be heated up and likely not missed at all, it would have to do. Lydia padded over to the large fridge, took out a container of cold lasagna, and began to heat it up in the microwave. Throughout the process, BJ stuck close to her, looming over her like a shadow, carefully watching everything she did. It was almost creepy, but Lydia was starting to realize he was just kind of like that, and a quick glance at his face told her that he looked more nervous than threatening. His eyes would occasionally dart around the room like at any moment someone was going to jump out at him.

“It’s nice here,” BJ said in a quiet voice, as they both watched the pasta slowly rotate, “Like, you know, for somewhere in the middle of buck ass nowhere.”

Lydia wasn’t sure whether he meant it or if he was just looking to fill the silence. Either way, she didn’t reply, just waited for the microwave to tick down to 1 second so she could beat it before it chimed.

She didn’t have to tell BJ to eat quickly. The second she handed him the container and a fork, he was going at it like he hadn’t eaten in days. Maybe he hasn’t, Lydia thought, then shook the thought away before she could dwell on it too much.

“This is _really_ good,” BJ said, around a mouthful of food, and Lydia winced as some of it flew out of his mouth as he spoke, “Like _really_ fucking go-”

“Shh,” Lydia reminded him, cutting him off.

He hadn’t really gotten above a whisper, she mostly just didn’t want to keep looking at the mushed up food inside his mouth—or get sprayed with it. And it wasn’t like any of that stuff he was saying was true, anyway. Delia’s cooking was average, at best. Lydia did, however, feel a little bad when he shrunk in on himself and looked around like they were about to get caught.

It didn’t take him that long to finish eating after that, due to the rapid pace he was shoveling food into his mouth. Lydia offered him a glass of tap water and he chugged that too, staring at her like she was going to take it away from him at any second.

Almost automatically, BJ stood up and dumped his dishes in the sink. It was obvious he was trying his best not to make any noise, even if he wasn’t particularly gifted in that area, with Lydia wincing at every noise as he proceeded to aggressively wash his plate, fork, and finally the cup.

“The hell are you doing?” she said, once he’d finished with the towel drying. It seemed against his nature for him to go out of his way to keep things tidy.

“They’ll notice,” he said. “Trust me, they always do.”

“The most they’ll assume is that I had a bizarre midnight snack,” she replied, but she took the dishes when he handed them to her, putting them back in the cabinets as quickly as she could. “Now c’mon, I’ve got to get you upstairs before—”

Lydia stopped talking when she noticed the way he was looking at her, wide-eyed.

“You okay?” she said.

BJ nodded, fidgeting with the cuffs of his sweater. “It’s just...you’rereallylucky,” he blurted. Lydia watched as he dug his nails into his wrist, rocking back on his heels and averting his eyes. “Nevermind. Forget I said anything.”

He shrank back as she took in what he’d said. And fuck, she hardly wanted to think about the implications of well, of anything he’d said. This, paired with the way he’d flinched when she’d grabbed his hand earlier and she was starting to think his mom was a whole lot worse than he was letting on.

“Your mom, she—”

He cut her off.

“She doesn’t _get_ me, y’know? Like okay, she can’t go two seconds without sticking her nose in my business. I dye my hair and you’dve thought I’d gone and joined a satanic cult.” His voice took on a mocking pitch. “It’s called fashion, Mom, look it up.”

Huh. Maybe she had been overly worried. Maybe BJ looked like shit because of the journey to get here, or he wanted to.

“Yeah, I sorta get it,” Lydia said, “When my stepmom first appeared, it was… A little like that. She didn’t like me and I didn’t like her. But I think a lot of that was my fault. I was also just too _weird_ for her.”

It wasn’t a lie. Lydia’s relationship with Delia had been extremely tense at first. But outright hostility had slowly migrated into something more like mutual cautious tolerance, after a whole lot of emotional theatrics. Her father, on the other hand, still acted like an emotionless husk whenever Lydia mentioned her late mother, but she had somewhat gotten used to it, even if it hurt.

“You get me,” he said, holding his hand up for a fistbump which she cautiously returned. “Grownups are the fucking worst; they’re like lifeless, dead inside _robots_.”

“Yeah, you got that right,” Lydia agreed, “They’re _condescending_ and think they know what’s best for you, even if that thing is moving out to the middle of nowhere to start a whole new life for no _reason_ when you had a perfectly good life _before_.”

She wasn’t really sure where the rant came from, but BJ was nodding along like she wasn’t rambling, and that spurred her on a little. He was a surprisingly good sounding board. She was about to continue but was interrupted by a loud yawn on BJ’s part. He looked exhausted, and Lydia realized he probably wanted nothing more than to go to sleep.

“Anyway, c’mon,” She said, “I’ll find you somewhere to sleep.”

“M’fine,” BJ said but made to follow her anyway.

Lydia led him up two flights of stairs to the attic, which had been converted into her own personal darkroom. It was the safest place to store a stowaway, in Lydia’s opinion, as she had made it quite clear that Delia and her father were _not to enter under any circumstances_. Until now, to their credit, they had stuck to her boundaries. Of course, it wasn’t an ideal place for anyone to have to sleep, but she figured the alternative of going back outside, or being caught in the spare bedroom, was much worse.

It had taken almost a whole month for Delia and herself to convert the old dusty attic into a dark room for Lydia’s photography development. Most of the work had been clearing out a ton of junk left behind by the previous occupants, which Lydia now felt a pang of guilt about knowing the context of the abandoned stuff. The windows had been blacked out with thick curtains, and the only light was from the large red safelight that hung overhead. Lydia had been in here recently, and the room still had the lingering smell of acetic acid. The walls were adorned with some of Lydia’s more recent work from the trip she had taken to the local nature reserve.

“You’ll have to sleep up here, you can open up the window to try to air it out a bit more,” Lydia explained, indicating to a shabby couch she used while waiting for photos to develop, or just to take a nap while hiding from Delia, “Sorry it’s not ideal.”

BJ didn’t really seem to be listening, instead opting to inspect the row of photos that adorned the far wall. Luckily, the ones he was getting his fingerprints all over were just some concept pieces she wasn’t fully happy with, so Lydia didn’t object.

“Woah, these are _so_ _cool_ ,” He said, sounding all too much like a little kid, “You did these? By yourself?”

“Oh, um, yeah,” Lydia said, genuinely flattered, “I usually photograph empty or abandoned buildings, living spaces without the living, you know? But I’ve recently had my first foray into nature, and I quite liked it. Trying to give life a chance.”

“Mhm,” BJ mumbled, and for a second Lydia felt a little disheartened that maybe he wasn’t listening, until he spoke again, “Could you show me your other stuff? _Oh_ , can I help you make more? It’s _awesome_.”

His enthusiasm was contagious, and Lydia couldn’t help but smile back at his wide eyes. Before she could remember that she was supposed to be kicking this guy out tomorrow morning, she was already agreeing.

“Yeah, sure, _tomorrow._ Maybe. It’s too late tonight, and I got school tomorrow,” She said.

It was a good enough answer for BJ, as he bounced excitedly on his heels. He held up the photograph he was holding, it was one of an old grave marker she had found off of the main trail. It was covered in weaving ivy and flowers. There was no indication as to who had been buried there.

“Can I keep this one?” He asked.

Lydia nodded, and BJ grinned and tucked the photo into the front pocket of his backpack. Lydia tried not to wince at the rough handling of her work. She tried to steer his attention back to the couch, this time opting not to touch him after the strange way he had reacted to her contact earlier.

“So um, anyway, I’ll go get you some blankets,” She prompted.

“Oh, right, gotcha,” BJ said, pulling away from the rows of chemicals on a shelf and heading over to the couch. He kicked his shoes off, just a pair of well-worn looking trainers to reveal even more well-worn looking socks, “Thanks, Lyds.”

Lydia felt warmth at the way he casually gave her a nickname. She had to admit when he wasn’t acting like a complete weirdo, and out of the range of her nose, BJ could be quite endearing.

She left him in the attic and tiptoed back down the attic stairs to get to the spare bedroom, which had kind of become a dump of spare items that Delia hadn’t gotten around to finding a home yet after the move. A lot of the stuff was still in boxes, but other items were littered throughout the room. Books, bad art, and piles of laundry. It didn’t take much routing for Lydia to discover a couple thin blankets and a pillow with no case. Something told her BJ wouldn’t mind.

Prizes in hand, Lydia made her way back up to the attic. But when she crept back into the dusty room, she was greeted by soft snoring coming from the couch. When she got closer, she found BJ already curled up on himself, fast asleep, an arm propping up his head. He must have been as exhausted as the dark circles around his eyes suggested. He had also stripped down to just his boxers and hoodie, something Lydia could’ve done without seeing. Careful not to wake him, Lydia draped one of the blankets over him and put the pillow near his head so he would be able to find it if he woke up. Then, she tiptoed back out of the room, her own bed calling her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 of Beej squatting in the Deetz's house. Everything is going swimmingly, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We got so many amazing comments last chapter it made us both cry thank you so much!! We both have the Big Anxiety when it comes to replying but I promise we read them all and loved them. 
> 
> Also Backgroundknitting drew some super adorable [fanart](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/backgroundknitting/627109766146277376) for Chapter 1 which like, dude, if you ever need a bullet taking for you I am THERE.

For the first time in a long time, BJ’s back didn’t hurt.

And when he rolled sideways to check the time on the shitty digital alarm clock he kept at his bedside, he found only empty space. Panicking a little, he sat up to find he wasn’t in his room at all.

His room with the shitty blue carpet and the water damaged ceiling. The lumpy mattress that made his back feel like he was seventy instead of seventeen. The paper-thin walls that made it all too easy for him to hear his mother - Juno, it felt wrong to call her a mother after she’d made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him - screaming at whoever she'd chosen to be her boyfriend for the week. He’d scream back, normally, and then there’d be a full-on shouting match before eight in the morning.

Judging by the total darkness, BJ assumed it was far earlier than eight o'clock in the morning. That was, until he staggered to his feet, running a hand through his mess of hair--yes, okay, he was admitting it was a mess--and, fumbling with the doorknob found himself looking out into an empty landing leading to a set of stairs.

Oh shit.

Oh _shit._

Goddamnit, what the fuck had he gotten himself into now? First of all, it had to be at least midmorning, not that he was complaining; he hardly ever got to sleep in. _Still_ , he’d assumed he must’ve dreamt the whole thing with the shrimpy twelve-year-old emo - fuck, _goth_ \- the night before. Because there was no way, no fucking way that a total stranger would allow someone like him anywhere near their house.

Especially when said house was practically a mini-mansion. A far cry from his home, a two-bedroom apartment block that stank of booze and cigarettes and cat litter, even though they’d never actually owned a cat.

Christ, was BJ ever fucking screwed.

He shut the door as gently as he could, freezing as the hinges squeaked loudly. He stood, his heart thudding painfully in his chest as he waited for the telltale tread of footsteps, for someone to barge in and not-so-kindly inform him that the jig was up and he was going to be sent back to his mother without so much as a _“goodbye, creepy stranger who sort of accidentally invaded our house.”_

When said intrusion magically failed to occur, BJ first sat cross-legged on the couch before flopping onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. This wasn’t the most welcoming environment. Lydia’s darkroom didn’t look any less freaky in the daytime, and now that he was more awake he noticed the stench of the developing chemicals. They made his head feel light.

Still, better than cat piss.

What had Lydia said? He remembered, somewhat vaguely, her shaking him awake and threatening murder if he didn't stay absolutely silent. Funny, considering BJ was pretty fucking used to hiding in his room, and really, the only difference was the new, slightly-freaky environment.

And, oh yeah, the fact that he was basically a glorified squatter.

Thing was, BJ was starving, he also kind of super had to piss. His mouth tasted like some small rodent-like animal had crawled in there and died, so he wouldn't have objected to water or a toothbrush or, or _something_. He had no way to gauge the time, but he was betting it would be a while before Lydia got back, which meant, as much as the idea made his insides feel like someone had wrung them through a spaghetti strainer, that he'd have to venture out of the darkroom and, in the very least, try to find a bathroom.

BJ had taken off his jeans and socks to sleep, leaving him in his boxers and hoodie. Now, he stood, dressing as quietly as he could before once again shuffling over to the door. He flattened himself to the floor and stared through the small space between the bottom of the door and the hardwood silently thanking whatever absolute fucker of a god that had decided to leave the coast clear. He wasn't inobtrusive, even with his socked feet knew he walked pretty damn loudly, which meant he'd have to rely mostly on luck to keep himself from getting caught.

This time, BJ was wary of the traitorous hinges. Stuffing his knuckles in his mouth to stop himself from making a sound should there be someone on the other side, he slowly pulled it open to find himself yet again staring out into the empty hallway. BJ did his best not to have a complete and total freakout because holy shit, _holy shit_ , how the fuck was he supposed to find a bathroom in this huge place without getting caught.

The answer was that he probably wouldn't. Whatever. He had zero other options. It was either this or piss in one of Lydia’s chemicals and hope the reaction didn’t blow his dick off.

It was with that comforting thought that BJ stepped out of the darkroom and into the hallway.

Truth was, now that it was morning, everything about the house seemed larger and more threatening, with its high ceilings and it’s dark walls adorned with terrible works of art and clashing shades of paint. Nothing like the puke-yellow everything that BJ was used to.

He shook it off, continuing down the hallway and towards the first open door on his right. The lights were shut off, with thick curtains covering the window; but even in the half-darkness, it was obvious to him that this was Lydia’s room. The dark walls, coupled with the many posters and photographs plastered to the walls gave away that much.

Honestly, BJ was impressed with her decorating skills. It was obvious it must’ve taken ages. He thought back to the photograph in his backpack, _that_ must’ve taken ages too. For a second, he was almost angry with her. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t her fault that he’d spend the majority of his childhood hiding in his room and doing his best not to inhale too much of Juno’s cigarette smoke. Really, it was a wonder he hadn't given himself severe lung damage from the amount of time he spent around her and her nasty habit. His throat got scratchy sometimes, sure, but at least he could _breathe._

For a split second, it was almost like he couldn’t, as if the thought of Juno was enough to knock the air right out of his lungs. It would be embarrassing, he knew, to start crying here, in this empty hallway in a house that didn’t belong to him. But oh shit, did he really fucking want to. Juno sucked, the Maitlands were dead, and Lydia was clearly cooler than he’d ever be.

Impulsively, he pulled her door shut as hard as he could, shut his eyes, and counted to ten as he waited for someone to come running.

The hallway remained empty.

It didn’t take him long to find the bathroom after that, and BJ returned to the attic feeling marginally less terrible. He’d drank as much as he could from the tap. And now, as he sat on the couch, fidgeting with his hands, he realized that had probably been a mistake; knowing his luck, he’d have to piss again in fifteen minutes. For some unfortunate reason, the water had only made him hungrier.

BJ knew there was no way he could manage sneaking down to the kitchen to grab something. For one, they’d definitely notice the missing food, and for two, he was eighty percent sure that Lydia’s stepmom was down there, judging by the occasional sound of light footsteps.

The fear of being found out was enough to keep him there for the rest of the day, blankets pulled over him, because goddamnit did he ever get cold easily, as he ignored the steadily worsening hunger and the godawful headache that came with it. Long enough that he started to wonder if Lydia was ever coming back, or if she’d abandoned him up here to starve to death, and he hated it, really fucking hated it. He hated being alone. It made him feel sick and squirmy and _wrong_ and fuck, fuck, fuck, now he really couldn’t breathe.

By the time Lydia got home, he was little more than a chubby blob entirely obscured by multiple blankets, and the sound of the door opening was enough to send him toppling off the couch and to his feet.

BJ knew it was pathetic, he wasn’t a fucking puppy dog, but at that moment he sure felt like one. Especially when she tossed a peanut butter sandwich in his direction, followed by a water bottle.

“Sorry I took so long,” Lydia said, and BJ was about to remark that she didn’t _look_ all that sorry before she continued. “ _Delia_ wanted me to try on dresses. Again.” She said her stepmom’s name as if it were something awful-tasting.

He glared at her as he stuffed the food in his mouth. “Whatever,” he said, his words muffled by the poorly constructed sandwich. “Actually no--I take that back--not whatever. You forgot all about me! You left me up here with your dumb pictures and it _stinks_ and its _dark_ and--and--and--” He broke off, “I pissed in your bathroom, okay? Or, somebody's bathroom. I don't know. I didn’t flush.”

For a few seconds, she didn’t say anything at all and BJ just stood there, trying to ignore the odd static feeling that had taken over his body. Hunger or stress or _something._ Without thinking, he threw the sandwich at her feet, stomped on it for good measure.

“And I don't want your stupid sandwich either,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and doing his best to look intimidating, which was, quite frankly, incredibly difficult when he was kind of maybe a little bit crying and also barely over five foot four.

To add insult to injury, Lydia was entirely unbothered by his display of emotion.

“Did anyone ever tell you you talk like, _really_ loudly?” she said, and fuck, now she was glaring at him, which felt all around awful. “Delia’s leaving for yoga in a few minutes. So if you could just keep it down until she’s gone, then you can scream at me all you want.”

“I'm not screaming,” he mumbled back, but it sounded like a weak excuse even to his own ears. And yes, he’d been told he talked loudly, but usually, he didn’t much care; he thought, now, that maybe he should’ve.

“Whatever,” she said, eyeing the ruined sandwich. BJ didn’t miss the anger in her tone, anger that brought back the uncomfortable squeezing in his lungs. “You should eat something before you go, and I'm not making you another sandwich.”

She didn’t mean it, but the remark brought back memories of his mom - Juno, whatever - and it wasn't that he didn’t _want_ to think about it, he just didn’t think he could. Not without crying. It didn’t matter, anyway, so what if she sometimes sort of forgot to feed him? So what if she--

BJ shook his head, effectively cutting off his own train of thought.

Lydia snapped her fingers in front of his face to get his attention. “You going to need help getting on the right bus?”

Before he knew it, she was grabbing his bag and shoving it in his direction. He took it, unable to do anything else but watch as she grabbed the blanket off the couch (now slightly wrinkled and muddied) and folded it. She moved almost mechanically, and fine, BJ was fucking awful at emotions, everybody knew that, but it dawned on him suddenly that she was upset with him, like, mega super upset with him.

“Woah, woah, stop the presses; you’re kicking me out?” he said, his throat aching like he was going to cry. He clenched his fists because he was a fucking _baby_ anymore, goddamnit, he wasn’t _supposed_ to cry.

“Yeah,” she said. “I mean, you agreed you’d be out of my hair by the end of the day, right?”

She looked at him, uncertain, and BJ winced. Fuck, fuck, fuck, she wasn’t wrong, she wasn’t fucking wrong. And how the hell was he supposed to explain to her that he couldn’t go, not back to Juno with his tail tucked between his legs.

“I--” he started, his voice already cracking. “You’re just going to _abandon_ me? I thought we were a team, y’know, saying ‘fuck you’ to the old people and all that.”

“Something tells me my parents wouldn’t agree with our little team; and anyways, I didn’t mean all that stuff I said last night, not really.”

Oh. _Oh._ She’d been lying to him. She’d been lying to him _and_ she wanted to dump him out on the street like yesterday’s trash. It was stupid of him to think that she’d be any different, she wanted him gone, she _hated_ him, she was mad and she hated him and of course she did because all he was good for was ruining things.

“Yeah well--” he started, surprised by the anger that thickened his tone. “I can’t go back home, okay? Not ever or else my mom will--”

“She’ll what?”

For the first time since the start of the conversation--argument, altercation, whatever--Lydia looked genuinely concerned, some might even say disturbed.

“Nothing,” BJ said, as fast as he could, and of-fucking-course he was crying. Not like, the kind of crying that was socially acceptable either, the kind where you dabbed at your eyes and assured everyone you weren’t fucked in the head, this was the kind with snot and tears and somewhere down the line, he'd lost the ability to breathe entirely.

BJ dug his fingernails into his palms. Suddenly, everything had become very far away, he sensed, rather than felt Lydia step closer to him, her hand on his back, guiding him over to the couch where he sat, his knees pulled to his chest.

He spent a while curled in a ball, his arms wrapped as tight as he could around his legs in an attempt to muffle the miserable sobs that escaped him. He sounded a little like he was dying, a fact he would’ve found hilarious--he knew he looked kind of like a corpse--if he wasn’t in the middle of quite literally fighting for the ability to breathe. He got like this sometimes, usually when Juno yelled too loudly or dug her nails into his shoulder hard enough to draw blood, the time her number one worst boyfriend who’s name he could hardly remember beat the shit out of him. Those were just a few examples, he freaked out alarmingly often. Or, at least, the school guidance counselor seemed to think so.

Whatever.

“That was so gross,” he said, once his brain stopped feeling like something was chewing on it and he’d regained the ability to form sentences. “Jesus.”

He blew his nose on his sleeve, which made her go from concerned to outright disgusted in one fell swoop.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lydia said. Throughout his breakdown, she’d had her hand on his shoulder, and she kept it there now. Props to her for her bravery, most people he knew wouldn’t have touched him with a ten-foot pole.

“Not really,” BJ replied. He mourned the loss of his peanut butter sandwich, and his stomach seemed intent on reminding him that the only thing he’d had to eat for about two days now was the leftover lasagna he’d had the night before.

“Feel better?” She’d gone from touching his shoulder to patting his shoulder, and BJ felt a little bit like a dog.

“I feel like ass.”

Worse than ass, but the near-monosyllabic response was as much as he could muster when his lungs had apparently decided to give up. He settled for staring at the wall, biting his fingernails as Lydia went silent.

All his life, he’d felt damn near invisible. At times it seemed that if he were to spontaneously cease existing, there’d be no one around to notice his disappearance at all, let alone mourn it; but now, sat on the slightly ratty leather couch in the attic of some baby goth, BJ almost wished for the reverse, as the way she was looking at him was enough to make him feel physically ill. He braced himself for her to say something, anything. It probably wouldn’t be good, but he promised himself that he’d take it in stride, that he’d fuck off and find somewhere else to go. He’d sleep under a bridge if he had to. Whatever it took as long as he never had to see Juno’s face again as long as he lived.

The sound of the front door slamming, causing a vibration throughout the house pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Delia’s gone,” Lydia said, matter-of-factly, like none of that fiasco just happened.

“Oh,” was all BJ could think to say to that. And then. “I’m sorry for ruining my sandwich.”

“It’s okay.” Lydia got to her feet. Her absence made him sink further into the couch. She began sifting through the contents of a set of drawers along the back wall. “I keep snacks up here anyways. It makes it easier to avoid the parentals, one of the many reasons I hate taking trips to the kitchen.”

BJ didn’t mention that he kind of wished she’d told him that _before_ she’d left him to starve for hours on end.

Still, he liked Cheetos as much as the next guy, so it wasn’t like he was going to object when she tossed a bag his way. Quite the opposite, in fact, and there was a decent stretch of silence in which neither of them said anything at all. The space was quiet save for his crunching.

“M’sorry,” he mumbled when he’d regained the majority of his spirits. He licked the Cheeto dust off his fingers before wiping his hands on his pants. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been told ‘I struggle with controlling my temper’ and that I should ‘envision a calm place whenever my frustrations get too much to handle.’ Whatever _that_ means.”

Lydia snorted. “How’s it working out for you?”

Seeing as he was a homeless fuckup whose life seemed to be spiraling more and more by the second, BJ knew it was going pretty fucking terrible.

“Great,” He said.

There was another stretch of silence where he waited for Lydia to ask him to leave again. He really didn’t want to beg her to let him stay. He looked at the squashed sandwich on the ground. He felt it looking back at him. Did it also think he was pathetic? Stupid sandwich. His stomach growled, the Cheetos weren’t enough.

“I guess it _is_ getting late,” Lydia said eventually, “And the busses are more frequent during the day, anyway.”

BJ glanced up at her from his position on the couch, a little nugget of hope growing in his chest. The corners of her lips were tugged into a mischievous smile like she was fully aware that she was holding his life in her hands, and enjoyed it.

He swallowed, “So I can stay?”

“One more night,” She held up a finger to emphasize her point, “I _swear_ though, I don’t want any more bullshit from you. No hissy fits. No pissing on toilet seats.”

“I didn’t piss _on_ the…” He tailed off, “Yeah, _fine_ , got it. I swear, from now on I’ll be the best guest-slash-friend ever.”

“You said that last night,” Lydia retorted.

“Well I’ve been going through a lot, but I _really_ mean it this time,” He held out his pinky finger, “Promise.”

Lydia looked at it, then back up at him. She was clearly a little skeptical of the power of the pinky promise. BJ wiggled it a little. Lydia took a couple steps closer and interlocked their pinkies.

“The pact is sealed,” He said with as much gravitas as he could muster.

That finally got a laugh out of her, and he smiled back with some relief that maybe he hadn’t completely fucked up the whole friendship thing.

That was, until she looked him over in the sort of way that usually meant he was about to get viciously mocked or, BJ didn’t know, kicked in the dick or something. It wasn’t a good start was what he was saying.

“...on one condition,” she said.

BJ opened his mouth to tell her he didn’t _do_ conditions, that conditions could go fuck themselves because he wasn’t about to turn into some rule-following tightass. Then, of course, he remembered that she was his friend now, and friends didn’t generally pull that kind of shit.

Instead, he nodded.

“Anything,” he replied.

“Bathing is mandatory,” she said, and, from the way she was looking at him, he could tell he wouldn’t be able to bargain himself out of this one--not that he’d had any success with bargaining in the past--so he settled for facing her with a glare.

“Are you shitting me?”

She shook her head. “So, uh, I can run you a bath, or something, if you want,” Lydia said, no longer looking at him, “I don’t mind throwing your clothes in the laundry either, I can borrow some of my dad’s in the meantime.”

BJ shifted, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands with his thumbs. He knew he was grimy, and there was dirt under his nails, and his hair had that weird greasy quality. But he kind of _liked_ it. It was one of the few things about himself he could control. Everything else: His weight, his time, his emotions, they all felt like they were controlled by one external force or another. Dirt was familiar because he could choose to have it.

“I’m good, thanks,” He replied, suddenly not able to look at her, either.

There was an uncomfortable pause, before Lydia spoke again, “Dude, you kinda stink.”

It hurt to hear it out loud, even if he knew it was true. Before he could try to come up with some snarky reply, however, Lydia was already heading to the door.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m gonna go run you a bath, ‘kay?” She said, in a tone that told him he wasn’t going to be able to argue with her, “Wait here.”

So, he did. He sat on the couch and picked at the blanket as he waited for her to come back. In all honesty, it took longer than he’d expected it to. And about ten minutes after the sound of running water had met his ears--and just as he was about to go looking for her--Lydia returned.

“C’mon,” she said, opening the door for him.

He stood back, waiting for her to go first because fuck it was he ever uncomfortable. Logically, he knew they were the only two in his house, but as he followed her down the hallway, he kept in mind to tread as lightly as he could, unconvinced that Lyda’s stepmom...or god forbid her father, was going to jump out at every turn and holy fuck would that ever go badly.

Lydia led him to her own bedroom, and he got to see it in the light, properly, this time. It was large, and even though he had only known Lydia for less than 24 hours, he immediately knew she had spent a lot of time making it _hers._ Everything about it matched the gothic aesthetic she was cultivating. The walls were a deep purple color and adorned with photographs Lydia must have been particularly proud of. There was a desk with an old-fashioned gramophone on it, juxtaposed oddly against a fancy looking laptop and TV. A bookshelf lined one of the walls, packed full of novels.

“Bathrooms through there,” Lydia motioned to a door, “If you leave your clothes on the… Floor. I’ll come back in a few minutes to get them and wash them for you.”

And with that, she left the room, closing the door behind her and leaving him alone. BJ once again felt out of place. It all felt a little too much like he was invading Lydia’s space. Like he didn’t belong here, with all these nice things. Other people’s nice things. Not his. He swallowed the thoughts down and opened the door to the bathroom.

The bath was intimidatingly large, and Lydia had thrown something in there that had made the water turn purple and a hoard of bubbles rise on the surface, threatening to spill out onto the floor. The pungent aroma of flowers filled the air, and it made him wrinkle his nose. He would’ve preferred to just have a regular bath, like at home, with just hot water and none of the fancy oils or whatever Lydia had used. Or just not bathed at all. But BJ knew she wouldn’t be happy with him if he chickened out and went back out there still grubby.

BJ obediently stripped off his clothes, lamenting the loss of his hoodie which was one of the few things he ever felt comfortable in. He just hoped Lydia would take good care of it. He avoided looking at himself in the mirror, as he walked back into Lydia’s room and placed his clothes on the floor as she had instructed, before returning to the bathroom, closing the door behind him and locking it for good measure.

He breathed a sigh, then dipped one foot into the water. It was hot, but not scalding. The rest of him followed, and once he was laying down, he had to admit that it felt kinda nice. The thick layer of bubbles Lydia had provided meant he didn’t have to look at his own body, which made the whole process feel a little easier. BJ took a moment to try and relax, closing his eyes and pretending that everything was normal, and he wasn’t currently hiding out in someone else’s house like an intruder.

He had almost convinced himself by the time he opened his eyes again, to the sound of movement outside the room.

_It’s just Lydia,_ he reminded himself, as he sank deeper into the water, _And the door is locked_.

In any case, he wanted to hurry up and finish the job so he could get back to the security of the attic, and Lydia’s company. He already felt like he had been left alone enough today.

The sides of the bath were littered with several beauty products in various colourful bottles. BJ picked them up one by one, carefully looking over the labels to try and figure out which one he was supposed to be using. What the hell was _toner?_ Why did she have 3 different types of shampoo? Some of the labels didn’t even seem to be written in English.

BJ sighed, and grabbed one of the shampoos, squirting out a glob of it and rubbing it into his hair. He had to admit, it felt better than he’d expected, and he hadn’t previously known his hair could get that soft; maybe there was something to this shit.

It didn’t take long to rinse his hair out. Once he was done it flopped over his face and dripped into his eyes, leaving him feeling a little like a drowned rat. He didn’t _like_ washing his hair, not usually, he preferred to keep it as unruly as possible, something to distract from the rest of him. Additionally, he knew Juno _hated_ it; it was a small rebellion, but it was something.

That bit didn’t matter anymore, it wasn’t like he was going back to her ever again--not if he could help it. That left the issue of him having to find _somewhere_ to go. Somewhere other than here. BJ shoved the thought to the back of his head; he couldn’t think about that, not right now. He figured, worse came to worse and he’d find a cult to join or some shit.

The bathwater had gone an unappealing purple-brown colour by the time he’d cleaned himself off enough that he was sure there was no way Lydia could call him out on it. With the majority of the bubbles gone, he felt uncomfortably exposed, and he shivered in the lukewarm water.

It was weird being clean. At home, he didn’t bathe often, to say the least, and even when he did, it was in a shower that went cold after five minutes of use. BJ, who was perpetually freezing, would either be forced to shower as fast as possible or be left freezing his balls off.

He got up out of the bathtub and wrapped the towel Lydia had left for him around himself, the wet of his hair dripping down his back and shoulders. BJ tried not to cringe, half-sure he’d gone from smelling like a homeless dude to smelling the perfume section at Justice; he wasn’t sure which was worse.

When he emerged from the bathroom, he found a small pile of clothes that Lydia had clearly stolen from her father. There was a pair of sweatpants which were so long that he had to roll them up at the ends, and a t-shirt that only had short sleeves that left his arms exposed in a way he didn’t like. He immediately missed the all-encompassing safety of his hoodie. But still, like everything else in his house, the clothes felt soft and smelled good, and that should hopefully be enough to satisfy Lydia.

He poked his head out of the doorway to find Lydia already waiting for him, tapping away on her phone. She gave him a glance from head-to-toe, which made him feel naked again. However, he seemed to pass whatever internal assessment she was making, because she smiled and clicked her phone off with a flourish.

“So,” She said, “Parents are having an impromptu date night, which means we got the house to ourselves all night. And since Halloween is coming up, there’s a horror movie marathon on TV we can catch. They’re showing the director’s cut of _The Exorcist_ that kept in all the gross hospital scenes. I’ve already got snacks prepped.”

BJ was immediately excited by the idea of a best friend slumber party. He’d never had a best friend before, is this what it feels like? It was like a jolt of energy was shot through him, and he couldn’t help but shake his hands to disperse it. He saw Lydia looking, and tried to play it cool.

“I like movies,” He said, extremely casually.

“You’re so weird,” Lydia said.

“You’re the one excited by gross hospital scenes,” He shot back.

“Touché.”

⁂

“Yeah see, I’ve long been of the opinion that Cox’s portrayal of Lector is more persuasive than Hopkins’,” Lydia lamented, “Even though one ended up being the more iconic in the minds of the general public.”

BJ didn’t have a fucking clue what she was talking about, “I liked the bit where he wore that cop’s face.”

“Yeah, that was gnarly as hell,” She agreed, and BJ internally fist-pumped, “Pass the popcorn.”

BJ obeyed, even though he knew it was mostly kernels at this point. His stomach was starting to hurt from the sheer amount of sugar he had consumed in the last few hours, but it was a good type of hurt. His brain felt like it was buzzing, although his eyelids had been starting to droop since the third-hour mark. It didn't help that in between movies Lydia would ramble out her thoughts on it and while he tried his best to listen, sometimes he just zoned out to the ad break.

“Okay,” She continued, checking the schedule on her phone, and stifling a yawn, “Next up is _Carrie,_ which I think has some pretty weird takes on fema-”

She stopped mid-sentence, looking at him with the same horrified expression as one of the actors of the movies they had been watching. BJ had heard it too, the sound of a car pulling into a driveway. A split second and they were both on their feet, the plastic popcorn bowl that had sat between them clattering to the floor and spilling kernels all over the floor. The sound made him jump, and panic overtook him, freezing him in place. It was all over, he was going to get caught and they’d kick him out and he’d have to go back home.

He felt Lydia’s hands shoving him in the chest, bringing him back to the present. She was pushing him towards the staircase, “ _Move!”_

He didn’t need to be told twice. He immediately booked it towards the staircase, as the sound of car doors slamming filled his ears. He didn’t stop until he reached the attic, closing the door behind him and sinking to the floor, panting. All the sugary food that he had enjoyed earlier now sat heavy in his stomach, threatening to make its way back up.

He heard the sound of the front door open, and voices coming from below, although he was too far away to discern what they were saying. At once, BJ was filled with regret. He should’ve stayed down there and protected Lydia. She was probably gonna be in loads of trouble for the mess that was mostly his fault. And he was too much of a coward to do anything about it. His heart was racing, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He clamped his hands over his ears so he wouldn’t have to hear the shouting from downstairs when it started.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, with his eyes closed and his forehead rested against his knees. But eventually, there was a very soft knock on the door behind him and Lydia whispered, “It’s me,” Through the crack. BJ moved out of the way of the door and opened it for her. She sidled inside a bundle of clothes in her hands. From what he could tell, she looked fine, like nothing had happened, even.

“Parents are downstairs, so be quiet for once,” She warned him, shoving the clothes into his hands, “Here’s your things if you want to… Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah,” He said, and then, “No.”

He swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, unsurprisingly finding them damp. God, he couldn’t go one fucking day without having a meltdown, apparently. Lydia was looking at him like he was crazy again. He squished the bundle of clothes in his hands, they were still warm from the dryer.

“I ruined it. We were having so much fun and I ruined it. Just like that,” he snapped his fingers halfheartedly to illustrate his point. “Tell me, scale of one to ten, how mad were they?” BJ tried to force himself to sound normal and not at all scared shitless.

Lydia looked at him like he’d started speaking another language entirely. He was getting pretty sick of that look.

“What are you talking about? They still don’t know you’re here,” She said, calmly, “We’re good.”

“But we ate all their food, and drank all their drinks, and made a mess, and--”

“Shh,” She reminded him, and he clamped his lips shut, “It’s fine. It’s not _their_ food, it’s everyone’s food. I’m _allowed_ to eat it.”

“Oh. Right. Of course. I’m stupid,” He said, quietly, feeling like an idiot for freaking out over nothing, “Thanks. For the clothes and junk.”

“No problem,” Lydia said, but there was an edge to it, like she was still expecting him to freak out like he did that morning, “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright? Night.”

“Night,” He parroted back at her.

She crept back out the door, and he listened to her footsteps retreating down the stairs away from him. He wished she would’ve stayed a bit longer because the adrenaline hadn’t fully worn off and he was still slightly shaking and her presence was calming. But he wasn’t exactly going to shout at her to come back, so he let her go.

BJ looked down at the clothes, still scrunched up in his fists. He took his hoodie and pulled it over his head, immediately comforted by the familiar softness of the fabric. He pulled the collar up to his nose and sniffed. It was fresh, with the same flowery smell of the clothes Lydia had given him, rather than the thick stench of cigarettes that coated everything in his mother’s home. He decided to forgo the rest, since bare feet and the borrowed sweatpants were better than jeans and socks anyway, and lay them down unfolded on the floor near the couch he was using as a bed.

He flopped back onto the couch, pulled the blanket up to his nose, and stared at the ceiling, listening to the creaking of the house’s old floorboards for a long time before he managed to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia and BJ get some quality time together, outside of the house, for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who is reading this and DOUBLE THANK YOU to all the lovely people who commented. We both cry every time we get a comment, you are all so amazing.
> 
> Also, this chapter was a bitch to write. Please enjoy the fruits of our labour!!!

“You can stay _one_ more day,” She’d said. _That_ ended up being two, which turned into a full week. And over the course of the that week, Lydia learned some things about BJ:

He slept a lot, for one. Like, a _lot_ a lot. Sometimes, when she got home from school, it was clear from his aggressive bedhead and near-constant yawns that he’d just woken up. She chalked it up to some kind of teenage boy thing, or boredom, because it wasn’t like there was much else for him to do when he was cooped up in the attic. 

At first, she’d tried leaving him books; some of her favourites ( _Rebecca, The complete works of Edgar Allen Poe,_ and _Northanger Abbey_ ) along with a few she had taken from Delia’s less… Refined collection. But after a day or so, the stack remained untouched. When she’d pointed out his apparent disinterest, she’d hardly received much in the way of a response. _“I don't read,”_ he’d said, and that had been that.

He also didn’t seem to want to shower. Like, ever.

So yeah, there were the benign things. The constant sleeping and the not reading and his disdain for hygiene. But then, additionally, there were things that concerned her. And okay, Lydia wasn’t stupid, it wasn’t like she’d expected to bring in some _stranger_ off the street and expect him to be totally normal and well adjusted.

But sometimes, she couldn’t help but worry.

Like the time he’d accidentally knocked his glass of water off her desk, causing it to shatter into pieces. Thankfully, the glass had been empty and really, the whole mess had been easy enough to clean up. But Lydia didn’t think she’d ever forget the way he flinched back the minute it happened, his eyes wide with fear, huge and dark and he wasn’t looking at the glass, he was looking at her. His arms tight to his sides like he was trying to make himself smaller.

Sometimes, like when he, without fail, would remark every single night that whatever awful leftovers from Delia’s hit-or-miss vegan dinners were the best thing he’d ever tasted. The way he’d casually drop hints that his mom didn’t really feed him, at least, not properly, and it was obvious that he didn’t _expect_ to be given food. Occasionally, Lydia was tempted to inform him otherwise, but she was smart enough to know it would go badly at best.

Sometimes, like how, whenever the conversation began to move in the direction of her kicking him out, BJ would go quiet. Weirdly pale too, which was frankly stunning considering his skin was an odd, greyish white on the best of days. 

And then, when he was really upset, he’d wrap his arms around his shoulders and mumble to himself, clamping a hand over his mouth when he realised she was looking at him, almost as if he’d forgotten she could see him. 

For all his little idiosyncrasies, though, he could be a lot of fun. Lydia hadn’t fully integrated herself into her new school yet. Which was code for she had no fucking friends. It wasn’t like she was actively _disliked_ , but being in a small rural town meant that any kind of individuality made you stand out like a sore thumb, and most of her classmates seemed to want to keep the strange gothy teen at a careful distance. 

But BJ was different. He didn’t think she was a complete weirdo. At least, no weirder than he was. He laughed at her stupid jokes, and he took her seriously when she talked, in a way that the adults around her never do. He insisted they were _BFFFFs forever,_ which was pretty endearing, even if it wasn’t true, and a little desperate. She wasn’t sure if the eagerness to please her came from the fact that she could kick him out any day now, or the fact that he was clearly a pretty lonely dude. 

In the last week, however, he had gotten increasingly antsy. She felt a little sorry for him, knowing that she would also go stir crazy from being locked up in the darkness of the attic too, like a monster from a novel. She had given him her laptop in an attempt to keep him entertained, and that worked for a while. But later, he had still apparently gotten bored enough to start messing with the chemicals that lined the shelf of her dark room, spilling them everywhere and forcing them to air out the whole place for _hours_. She also suspected he had snuck into her room at some point too, because some of the things on her shelves had been subtly re-arranged in a way only she would notice. 

So, once the weekend rolled around, she took it upon herself to make sure he got outside, at least for a little bit. On Saturday morning, before either of her parents were up and awake, Lydia quickly readied herself and packed a picnic bag that she had secretly prepped the night before, along with 2 of her cameras. Her best, for herself, and a cheaper one she wouldn’t miss too badly if BJ dropped it on the pavement, which seemed likely.

When Lydia got up to the attic BJ was, predictably, fast asleep and snoring like a semi-rabid animal. She didn’t know how best to wake him, so she settled for leaning forwards and nudging his shoulder gently. When that didn’t work--in all honesty, she hadn’t thought it would--she nudged him again, harder this time. Her attempts had the opposite effect, and she watched as he burrowed even deeper into the couch cushions.

“BJ,” she said, trying to keep her voice down for fear of her parents overhearing. “C’mon weirdo… BJ, Lawrence, _dude._ Seriously.”

She pinched him, hard, on the arm. Abruptly, his snoring broke off and sat up with a cut off yelp. He turned to stare at her, and for a moment, it was like he wasn’t seeing her at all. Then he blinked, his eyes cleared, and his face split into an amicable grin.

“Lyds!” BJ said, and for all the excitement in his voice, he looked pretty dead. He brought a hand up to run though his hair, yawning as he did so, and slowly, a look of concern crept over his features. “Let me guess, Del--Del...lilah?”

“Delia.”

“That’s what I said. _Delia_ wants to deep clean the attic and you need to get me out before she shits hamsters?” BJ stood, pulling the blanket back around himself. 

Lydia shook her head. “No, listen; you’ve been cooped up in here for days.” He cocked his head like he was waiting for her to elaborate, so she did. “It’s like you’re haunting this place instead of living in it, which was cool for like, a day or two. But it’s getting...sad, even by my standards.”

His expression quickly turned from one of confusion to one of alarm.

“If this is you trying to break it to me gently, it isn’t working,” BJ said, twisting the blanket that sat in his lap. “Do you or do you not want me gone? ‘Cause I thought we’d moved past all that stuff now that we’re BFFFFs and all.”

  
Lydia didn’t bother to point out the glaring inaccuracy in his statement. She wasn’t looking to procure a BFF right now. Even if she’d wanted one, it wouldn’t be BJ. Not when they hardly knew one another, not when he was a seventeen year old guy with anger issues and body odour and a whole host of other problems.

Instead she chose to tackle his question, the same question she’d heard about a thousand times from him now. It was clear that the idea of having to leave terrified BJ more than he was willing to admit. Once or twice, Lydia had tried to press the issue, but every time, the guilt she felt when she saw the look on his face--uncomfortable bordering on fearful--was enough to stop her in her tracks. 

“I'm not kicking you out,” she said, and he responded the way he always did, with a nod. 

“I knew that,” he replied, which Lydia was pretty sure translated directly to _“I very much did not know that and now I’m going to try and play it cool.”_

“Of course you did.” Lydia made sure to smile a little as she said it, so he knew she was joking. She had found out pretty quickly that if she didn’t, it’d go right over his head. She assumed--no, she _knew_ \--that asshole teenagers must've had a ton of fun picking on him, it was almost too easy. “I thought we could get out of the house for a bit,” she elaborated. “I haven’t been to the cemetery in a while, so--”  
  


“You hang out at the _cemetery?_ ” He said, and for a second, Lydia expected the usual judgement that came along with being a death-obsessed teenager. The kind she got from Delia and her father. What she wasn’t expecting was a look of wide-eyed excitement. “I’ve only ever been to one once--when my grandma died--so it was a bit of a downer. Well, not really, she was kinda mean and smelled like dog food… Point is: Yes, I would like to come."

“That is, unless you want to tell me more about your dead grandma,” Lydia said, grinning. When she started towards the door, he stayed there, watching her as she went. She stopped, turning back around to face him. “Are you coming or not?” she asked.

“Course I am.” BJ was on his feet in an instant, grabbing his shoes and tugging them on as he went. “Goodbye, Lydia’s darkroom,” he said, glancing around the space one last time before Lydia shut the door behind them.

He was bouncing on his heels as they headed down the stairs and out the door, and Lydia had to shush him multiple times before they got outside, despite the fact that her warnings had little to no effect on him. Still, his excitement was infectious, and by the time they made it down her driveway, Lydia couldn't help but smile back at him.

They fell into silence, after that, and it was almost nice. The morning air, the smell of wet grass, quiet interrupted only by the occasional bursts of birdsong. Early morning on a Saturday and no one was around, just her and BJ who she could practically forget existed if she shut her eyes and--

“So,” BJ started, the way one does when one is intent on ruining the mood. “Small town, very quaint--what else is there to do around here?”

“Nothing,” Lydia replied, because that was the truth, wasn’t it? Winter River occupied the top spot on the list of the most boring towns in America, or it should’ve, anyway. “This place is hell; I’ve been here six months and the most interesting thing that’s gone on was the time some old dude had a heart attack in front of the school.”

Lydia was not disappointed by his reaction. “Holy shit. Now that’s something I’d pay to see. Unless he died. In that case, bless his immortal soul or whatever.” He paused to kick at a rock.

“He was dead before the ambulance showed.”

“Fuck, nevermind,” he said, as if he didn’t still look incredibly amused by the idea of an old man dropping dead. “I hope he finds peace and Jesus and stuff.”

Lydia didn’t know what to say to that, and BJ didn’t seem like he was looking for an answer, so she just nodded, taking in the scenery as they re-settled into a quiet they would’ve never been able to achieve if he’d been fully awake. 

Eventually, after around fifteen minutes of walking, they reached the cemetery. The first time she’d visited, Lydia had been enthralled by the sheer size of the place, with headstones that dated back further than she could imagine. The cloudy sky overhead coupled with the rough grey of the headstones created the sense that the place really _was_ haunted. Once they’d walked further in, the sounds from the nearby road faded into nothingness, replaced by a thick blanket of silence. 

She eyed the headstones as they passed, they were all newer, she realized. The land had recently been expanded upon, making room for more bodies. And when you put it like that, it sounded grisly, but in all honesty, the stark immediacy of death didn't much bother her. It had rained overnight, so the smell of wet grass hung in the morning air and mud squelched under Lydia's boots. A thick fog hung in the air, the leaves on the trees that shaded the graveyard were a spectrum of yellow, oranges and crimson.

Best of all, they were early enough that there wasn’t another living soul in sight. It was perfect.

BJ trudged behind her, yawning loudly and without covering his mouth, like he hadn't spent most of the last week sleeping. But still, he had the same level of enthusiasm he did for most things, "This place is _spooky._ I love it. _"_

“The church is 18th century, apparently, one of the oldest in New England,” She gestured down the rows of graves at the building, “Although it’s been renovated since, you can still see some of the original neoclassical design around the back entrance.”

She reached into her backpack and pulled out her cameras, while BJ squinted down at the old church and then back at her. He eyed the second camera she was offering him.

“I’m allowed?” He asked, tiredness seemingly forgotten in place of excitement. 

“Well, you did say you wanted to try,” She said, and held out one of the cameras to him, “And I’d like to see what you come up with.”

He immediately made to grab the offered camera, but Lydia waited until she had the strap securely around his neck before actually letting go of it. She spent a couple minutes explaining how to use it, mostly sticking to the basics as he seemed pretty impatient to get started, already bobbing on his heels. As soon as she signalled he was free to go, he took off down the muddy path, looking left and right for something that took his interest enough to capture. He apparently saw something, because he took a sharp turn left.

Lydia left him to it, he knew where to find her if he needed her. 

She wasn’t sure how long she spent photographing the old church. Once she got in the zone, everything else seemed to disappear. But a familiar voice dragged her out of her concentration.

“Lydia! Check this out!” BJ shouted, from the far side of the graveyard. 

It was only now she realised her arms were getting sore, and her stomach was starting to growl. She could probably do with a break. She picked up her backpack and went to find BJ. 

It wasn’t a difficult task, he stood out like a sore thumb even at the best of times. But he had managed to climb up onto a chest tomb and lay on his belly, his arms outstretched and something in his hands. She felt a little bad for whatever poor soul had been buried under there, and looked around to make sure they were still alone. 

“ _Lydia,”_ He shouted again, fully enthralled by whatever he was holding.

“I’m here,” She said, “What is it?”

“Look!” He said, still not looking at her.

Lydia walked around the tomb and stood on her tiptoes so she could see what he was holding. Nestled in his palms was a large, glossy green bug. Lydia wasn’t exactly sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t this. She looked up at his face, hoping for some explanation. The tip of his tongue was poking out as he concentrated. 

“It’s a jewel beetle, and a _really_ nice one at that,” He gently rocked his hands, and the iridescent green shifted in the sunlight. 

“Yeah, he’s… Pretty,” Lydia offered.

“She’s a she,” He said, manoeuvring the beetle so she could see it’s underside. He did it with a gentleness that she didn’t know he was capable of, “See the stripes here? That’s how you can tell. Want to hold her?”

Lydia was saved from having to answer when the beetle suddenly spread it’s wings and took off. They both watched it go in silence, which was broken by BJ as he climbed off of the tomb and onto the ground with a thud.

“Wow, that was _so cool._ We don’t get anything like that in the city,” BJ said, “I took some good photos of it too, I promise. And of a click beetle I found in those logs over there. I even got to see it _jump._ Oh yeah, and what I _think_ was a tiger swallowtail over there. I… shit, Sorry, you don't care.”

Lydia was already picturing a camera roll full of bugs, and the thought made her smile. She had, perhaps a little unfairly, dismissed BJ as someone with very few real interests. It was nice to be proven wrong.

"No, no, I think it's cool. You found a subject matter you care about," She told him, and his smile returned, "But, um, is that why you’re covered in mud?”

BJ looked down at himself, like he hadn’t noticed. He had mud caked into the knees on his sweatpants, and on his hands, which he had clearly wiped onto his hoodie, and a little on his nose. He looked embarrassed, like she was scolding him, and Lydia quickly course corrected.

"It's fine, really. You hungry?"

It was a dumb question. He was always hungry. She wasn't sure if it was a boy thing or just a BJ thing. But he nodded, and they sought out a dry patch of grass to set up a picnic. It was nothing fancy, just sandwiches and cookies and soda, stuff Lydia could take double of and her parents wouldn't notice the deficit. 

"The Maitlands must be buried somewhere here," BJ said, without really taking his eyes off his sandwich, like he wasn't really that bothered about tracking them down, "Hey, is your mom here too?"

The question hit her like a ton of bricks, and she immediately started choking on the cookie she was nibbling on. It wasn't like she hadn't talked about her mom dying with BJ, but it was the first time since the funeral that anyone had asked her about it directly. Everyone else in her life avoided the subject like the plague, but he had just brought it up so casually. She spluttered, and BJ thumped her on the back, probably harder than necessary. The food stuck in her throat mercifully dislodged itself. She took a swig of soda to wash it down. She could feel BJ’s eyes on her the whole time.

“No... She’s back where we used to live. I don’t know when we will get to visit her, my dad doesn’t seem to want to,” She sighed.

“Why do you want to? It’s not like you can talk to her, she’s dead.”

The question was rude, and anyone else would have gotten all the wrath a teen goth can muster. But BJ looked completely sincere, like he was genuinely confused as to why anyone would want to visit their dead mother’s grave.

“It’s… Cathartic, I guess,” She looked at the headstone nearest to her, _Richard O’Neil d.1893,_ no additional information. She felt bad for whoever Richard had been, “It doesn’t matter if she can’t actually talk back to me, I like to pretend she can, sometimes. Like she’s still here.”

The admission was a little embarrassing, and she could feel her cheeks heat up. She hadn’t told anyone that before.

“Oh, _oh,_ I get it. I do that too,” 

“You… Do?” She tried not to sound sceptical. 

“Sorta? Like, my dad isn’t dead. At least, I don’t _think_ he is. I don’t really know. But I like to imagine him, sometimes. I never met him before, but my mom always says i'm just like him,” He started tearing out chunks of grass, making a little pile on his knee, “I don't think she means it as a compliment.”

“Is that how you imagine him? Like you?” Lydia tried to picture BJ as a fully functioning adult, and failed. 

“Yeah. Maybe,” He swiped the grass shards off his knee, and they both watched them get caught in the wind, “Was your mom like you?”

“Yeah, she used to joke that I was actually her clone, because I’m nothing like my dad.”

“And she liked you because of that?”

“We were best friends.”

He nodded, and they both stayed silent for a while as they ate. Lydia realised this was the most serious conversation they’d ever had. It didn’t last long though, because BJ immediately lunged forward, grabbing the last biscuit out of her hand and shoving it in his mouth.

“You took too long,” He said, spraying her with crumbs.

A week ago, she would’ve been disgusted. In all honesty, she wasn't sure that she _wasn't_ disgusted, but he was her friend now, even if he was kind of strange (not that strange even began to cover his eccentricities). Instead, she just stuck her tongue out at him. 

Lydia had planned to spend at least another hour in the graveyard before starting to head home. However, as she got up from her spot on the grass and brushed the crumbs off her skirt, the sound of car horns honking got her attention. A funeral procession was making its way through the winding country roads up towards the cemetery. She sighed. Ordinarily, Lydia would probably just stay out of the way. But she was with BJ, and she wasn’t sure whether she trusted him to not climb on headstones and get them kicked out of the churchyard.

“Time to go,” She said.

BJ had been fiddling with the camera she had given him, his tongue poking out slightly. But when she spoke, he looked up, and made a high-pitched whining noise. He reminded Lydia more of an overgrown puppy than a boy at least two years her senior. She felt a pang of sympathy, as it was the first time in a week he had really been outside, and now she was responsible for locking him back up.

She wasn’t leaving room to argue, though. Lydia put her hand on BJ’s upper arm and started to steer him towards one of the back gates out of the cemetery, as mourners started to file in through the main entrance. He didn’t protest, but he had also noticed the throng of people coming in.

“Lydia check it out, you can _see the body,_ ” He said, looking over his shoulder at the incoming crowd. 

She had made the right choice, then. Thankfully, they were far away enough that nobody seemed to notice them leaving.

⁂

Lydia made the mistake of picking the scenic route for their trip back to the house, she’d thought, misguided as she was, that the odds of her stumbling across something--anything--to photograph, would be high. She hadn’t been wrong, necessarily, but what she had done was severely miscalculate the level of dirt clogging the roads from the earlier rainfall, especially the twisting, winding roads that she’d chosen to take. Within minutes, the treads of her shoes were engulfed in a cement-like mixture of mud and gravel; BJ didn’t fare any better, and somehow, he’d managed to splatter dirt halfway up his shins.

The mood had decreased, somewhat, as Lydia did her best to ignore the sheer amount of gritty water that had crept inside her shoes and dampened her socks; as BJ--whined was the best word she could use to describe it, but Lydia didn’t blame him in the slightest--about having to return to the attic.

If Lydia were meaner, or if he was less prone to unexpected freak outs, she might have informed him then and there that someday soon…

(very soon)

He’d be leaving her attic for good. 

By the time they reached the main road, BJ was rambling fast enough that his words had turned into a mostly incomprehensible blur of sound. Especially for Lydia, who was only half listening as she kept a careful eye out for the famously terrible small-town drivers she’d grown used to in her short stay in Winter River. 

What she wasn’t expecting to see were three familiar figures making their way down the opposite side of the street, chatting amicably amongst themselves. The three represented the majority of the teenage population of Winter River, kids who belonged to rich parents and refused to let anyone forget it. Lydia recognized them from her classes. They walked in near synchronicity, possessing the easy dynamic of friendship that Lydia found impossible to replicate. 

The girl on the far left was the shortest, with long red curls that trailed neatly down her back, she wore a cropped shirt, coupled with a flannel that was clearly failing to protect against the cold. The other two could’ve been mistaken for siblings with blonde hair and nearly identical blue-eyed gazes. Lydia knew the ringleader was called Sadie, because the girl had stormed up and confidently introduced herself on Lydia’s first day. Sadie’s right hand woman was Kate, box-dye redhead that had a laugh that cut through classroom chatter like nails on a chalkboard. But the third girl, Lydia hadn’t been acquainted with. She was quiet, and unassuming, and Lydia wondered how she had earned her place in their little trio. Lydia racked her brains trying to remember her name.

She first felt relief, it was obvious they hadn’t been noticed yet, and if they kept their heads down, they probably wouldn’t be. Of course, that was before she factored BJ into the equation. He was...a lot less hard to miss. 

BJ nudged Lydia’s shoulder, pulling her from her distracted state. “Who are those guys?” he said, head cocked in confusion. “You got _other friends_ you haven’t told me about?”

Lydia cringed; she must’ve been looking harder than she’d thought if _he’d_ picked up on it. The king of uncomfortably long stares. 

“No. I know that would make you _super jealous_ ,” she remarked easily, her voice reflecting none of her apprehension at the idea of having to possibly introduce BJ of all people to her very-rich, very-popular classmates who, up until this point, she’d managed to mostly steer clear of. In a town like Winter River, where everybody knew everybody, and subsequently, everybody _judged_ everybody, that was practically a gold medal worthy achievement. 

Even though there was no real malice in her tone, his eyes flashed with hurt. 

“Besides, you’re--” she started, in an attempt to nip the inevitable BJ-sulkfest at the bud, that was, before she realized Sadie was looking directly at her. Even from a distance, the look of disdain was clear on her perfect features.

“Lydia?” she called, and before Lydia knew it, the three were crossing the almost-empty road and stopping beside them, eyeing her and BJ with various amounts of forced friendliness. 

They shouldn’t have bothered; Lydia already knew what they were doing. The thing that bored rich kids did best, pissing off the ‘weird gothy girl’ who’d moved to town six months ago and had hardly said a word to anyone since. To anyone at school, that was, Lydia was plenty talkative when it came to bothering her stepmom or explaining photography techniques to an excited BJ.

Now, BJ looked...strange, like he’d retreated far enough into himself that only a shadow of his former energy remained. Lydia had only seen him like this once before, when they’d first met and he was sat on her porch, with a strange dullness to his features like he was preparing himself for the worst. That coupled with the way he was clearly trying to make himself seem smaller than he was, made Lydia almost feel bad for him. She didn’t do well in most social situations, sure, but looking at him made her realize it could’ve been much, much worse for her.

“Hey Lydia!” Sadie said, slapping her lightly on the shoulder.

Lydia wondered what it would take to make her artificial smile fall off her face and shatter on the concrete. Nothing short of a miracle, probably, not that that stopped her from imagining it. 

“ _So,_ what are you and your--” she broke off to stare at BJ, and Lydia realized that perhaps she’d spoken too soon, it was obvious that whatever number of disquieting factors he had going on were enough to dull the edges of her sharp grin. “...friend up to?” She paused again, her eyes narrowing as she un-subtly looked him up and down. “I don't think I’ve seen him around before.”

Aside from a brief glance in Lydia’s direction when Sadie said the word _“friend_ ” BJ didn’t attempt anything in the way of a response. For a second, he looked like he really, really wanted to say something, opening his mouth, and then shutting it just as quickly. 

Lydia nudged him in encouragement, then immediately regretting the action when it dawned on her that any excuse that BJ would be able to think up would be ill thought-out at best, and nonsensical at worst.

“You haven’t seen me ‘cause I’m from New York,” he blurted out, the words coming fast.

“I’m assuming he means the streets of New York,” Katie--the redhead--muttered, and Sadie snickered.   
  


“He’s a family friend,” Lydia cut in, in an attempt to keep the peace. If she were on her own, it would’ve been a different story, but it was unfair to force BJ into the middle of an argument when he was so clearly uncomfortable. “He’s visiting for a little while. I figured I’d show him around.”

“Looks like you got real acquainted with the Connecticut mud,” Katie said, clearly on a roll with her zingers. 

Lydia gave a sarcastic smile back at her, “Yeah well, I didn’t factor in last night’s ra-”

“We went to the graveyard,” BJ interrupted, “The church there is like, a million years old, Lydia wanted to take pictures of it.”

Lydia could feel the wetness of her socks, and focused on that, because right now she wanted the Earth to just swallow her up. It wasn’t that she was particularly embarrassed of her hobbies, but BJ made it sound so _stupid._ And if there was one thing teenage girls were good at latching on to, it was anything that made you weird.

“ _Lawrence_ ,” She warned, using his real name, because there was no way she was gonna use his stupid nickname in front of these girls.

“It’s--” he started, and Lydia could see that he was intent on correcting her. She stomped down on his foot. Hard. BJ didn’t seem to get the message, if anything, he looked even more uncomfortable than he had previously. He stuffed his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt and bit at his lip as if to shut himself up.

Sadie ignored them. “Of course she does,” she said, leaning in closer to BJ, who took an obligatory step backwards. Though she wasn’t much taller than him, the girl towered over him, and for a brief second, Lydia wondered if he was going to flinch away the way he sometimes did if she touched him unexpectedly.

He didn’t. But he looked like he wanted to.

“So, _Lawrence,_ ” she continued, the mocking lilt of her tone growing ever clearer. “You must have it hard for Lydia if you’re letting her drag you around town like a lost puppy.”  
  


“C’mon, we both know she’s not into dudes,” Katie said, “And even if she was, I think she could do better.”

Lydia was unbothered. You didn’t wear dresses that looked like they’d be better suited on a corpse if you were trying to be discreet about your sexuality. If anything, it was just another thing to add to the ever-growing list of reasons people at school refused to so much as speak to her. She didn’t mind, she wasn’t looking to make friends with the kind of people who cared.   
  


“ _True_.” Sadie said.

Lydia glanced over at BJ. Over the last week, she had witnessed him get upset over plenty of things. It was always the same, with him, and it happened often enough that Lydia knew by now that there wasn't much that could be done to stop him once something set him off. It was like setting off rouge fireworks, once lit, one could only sit back and hope the damage wasn't too extensive. 

This time, however, was different. He just stood there, staring at his busted-up sneakers like they were the most interesting thing in the world. Lydia would’ve been impressed by his self-restraint, if she didn’t feel bad for him.

Luckily, the third girl (Liz? Lydia was 70% sure she was called Liz), who hadn’t spoken up yet, cut in before Lydia had to, “You guys are such assholes sometimes.” 

Lydia decided she would be spared. 

“Oh, come on, we’re just _joking_ ,” Sadie said, “You can take a joke right, Lydia?”

“Sure,” Lydia agreed, internally wishing the laws involving homicide didn’t apply to her.

“See? It’s fine,” Sadie said, she seemed to have forgotten about BJ entirely, and turned back to her friends, “Come on, its _freezing._ Let’s go to mine, I bet my mom will get us McDonald’s. See ya Monday!”

Lydia forced a smile at them as they turned to leave, relaxing at finally being dismissed. The girls headed down the road, thankfully in the opposite direction of Lydia’s house. Before they turned the corner, Liz turned back to her and gave her a small wave.

Lydia turned back to BJ, who was still scowling at the floor, uncharacteristically silent. Lydia wasn’t exactly sure what to say, and she wanted nothing more than to slip into a hot shower and throw her soggy socks into the laundry. So she took the initiative, and started walking home. The sound of crunching leaves told her that BJ was trailing behind her.

They walked in awkward silence for all of one minute, before it was predictably broken by BJ, “Did you know that lobsters piss out of their eyes?”

Before Lydia could open her mouth to respond--likely something along the lines of _“no, no I didn’t, in fact, I wish I was still living in a world where I didn’t know this because, seriously dude, that’s kind of super gross,”_ \--he steamrolled on.

“Well, okay, not technically their eyes. It’s how they communicate, except, I guess they don’t have a whole lot to talk about ‘cause they only really use it when they’re fucking or straight up trying to beat the shit out of each other…I’m unclear on whether that ever overlaps… is it weird that I kind of hope it does? Lobsters rage-fucking sound cool as hell.”

Before Lydia could decide whether to dignify his remark with a response, she was met with the sight of BJ bursting into tears. It didn’t last long, or at least, the worst of it didn’t. Lydia stopped beside him as he slowed to a halt, his shoulders shaking. 

BJ swiped a once-again-grimy sleeve across his eyes and stared at the gravel road beneath their feet. He didn’t cry loudly, she knew, not unless he was trying to make a point, but with every too-sharp intake of breath, Lydia cringed. She didn’t deal well with emotions, especially when it came to BJ, whose moods were erratic on the best of days. 

And maybe, if she hadn’t been able to feel the anger rolling off of him in waves, she would’ve reached out and patted him on the shoulder, or hugged him; Lydia wasn’t sure. Maybe she would’ve done something except watch him go from sadness to anger, a slow look of murderous intent coming over his features--of course, this _was_ BJ, after all, so his version of murderous intent was little more than a scowl that seemed out of place on his chubby features.

“You know, you shouldn’t listen to that stuff,” Lydia said. “They’re idiots who probably shop at _Claire’s._ Who the hell cares what they think?”

She didn’t think it would help, but it felt better to open her mouth and say the words she’d been telling herself more than was probably healthy over the past six months; before then, even. Being the kid with the dead mom wore off quickly, especially when you didn’t behave like the easy-to-mange, storybook version of a grieving daughter. Sympathy could be earned, sure, but she was far more interested in antagonizing those who tried to step up and help her; they didn’t get it, they never would. 

BJ turned his head, effectively breaking their somewhat tenuous eye contact. He clenched his fists, and for a second, Lydia thought he might hit her. 

“That’s the _point,”_ BJ muttered, he sounded like the words had gotten stuck halfway up his throat. “I'm not _confident_ like you are. Of course it doesn't bother you. You’re all… All cool and smart and shit,” he broke off into a whine. “Some of us can't do long division because numbers hate us. Some of us didn’t read until the sixth grade. Some of us vomited at the MET because the teacher felt bad for them and let them take an unhealthy number of cookies from her purse because their mom forgot to pack them lunch that day. Only, they were too scared to tell anybody, so they just spent the rest of the day making up excuses for why they smelt like a barf bag, _Lydia_.”

Lydia didn’t know what to say to that. To her, it seemed like a whole lot of nothing. The tears in his eyes said otherwise. 

“Yeah you are,” she said. “Confident, I mean. You had the balls to go travel to another state looking for someone you hardly knew existed. You think I could do that?”

“You wouldn’t hafta do any of that stuff,” he said. “I bet if your parents kicked you out, you’d… I don't know, start your own cult or some shit.”

He was right, of course. But that wasn't the point. He was, yet again, getting upset at her.

Lydia had tried not to take it too personally. He was going through a lot, and he'd told her about his anger problems and the stupid therapist his school made him see. But it had been a _week_ of living in her house, eating her food, making her sneak around her parents. She could feel herself getting pissed back at him. Normally, when he got worked up like this, she would just leave him alone to stew in the attic. He'd usually forget what he was even mad about after half an hour or so. She couldn’t exactly do that now.

“You've got to stop doing this," She said, matter-of-factly.

"Doing what?" He said.

"Getting angry at me for no reason," She said. She took a breath, all her thoughts from the last week came bubbling up to the surface. She rounded on him, "Look. I'm sorry your mom sucks, and you've got nowhere to go, and some teens you don't even know called you some middle schooler insults. But none of that is my fault. I'm your _friend_ , and I'm trying to _help._ And if you want to keep it that way you've _got_ to stop throwing a tantrum every time things don't go your way, because I can’t keep walking on eggshells around you. I have feelings too, you know."

"Coulda fooled me."

She could see he regretted it immediately, because his eyes went wide and he looked at the ground instead of her. She didn’t let it go, though.

“You think I like being made fun of for who I am? Because I don’t. I just don’t freak out about it like a big baby,” She bit her tongue to stop herself from saying anything worse.

She expected him to yell back at her. Part of her wanted him to. She was cold, and wet, and angry, and maybe if he screamed at her she could justify going back to her house without him.

But he didn't scream, he just kept looking at her with a weird expression on his face. BJ stared a _lot,_ and Lydia had come to realise he didn't always realise he was doing it. Often, she just had to wait until he had figured out whatever complicated problem he seemed to be mulling over in his mind. This time though, she found the whole thing irritating.

"What?" She said.

"I didn't know you were…" He trailed off, fidgeting with his sleeves.

"Gay?" She finished for him, "Everyone else seems to be able to figure it out." 

That wasn't strictly true. Her dad hadn't, she was pretty sure. Although talking about that kind of thing would probably make his head explode, or something. It wasn't something she was ready for, even if Delia thought it would be a good “Bonding Moment”.

He was still fidgeting with his sleeves, and shifting from foot to foot. She wondered whether he was uncomfortable with this new information, or he just needed to pee. Sometimes, it was hard to tell with BJ.

“And you’re not--” he started, once again at a loss. Lydia almost felt bad for him, the way confusion was written across his face as if it had been scrawled there in ink. 

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “I'm not what?” 

“I mean, in a small town like this, I thought they liked that sort of thing even less here than they do everywhere else.”

He wasn’t making sense, not really, but Lydia understood what he was getting at.   
  
“Oh yeah, probably. But they’ll gossip about just about anything,” she just about scoffed, “This just seems to be the _latest_ talking point of many.”

It would’ve been easier if their dislike of her had been quantifiable, if she could’ve pointed to a single variable and claimed it as the sole reason for her inability to fit in. As if it would ever be that easy. 

“Right…” BJ tailed off again. 

He looked like he wanted to say something else, and Lydia wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear it. She had come to the realisation that she had never actually acknowledged her own sexuality out loud, and this was _not_ how she had envisioned coming out. She turned away from him and started walking again, the squelching of her wet socks against her numb feet hampering her attempts to calm down.

“Lyds?” She heard BJ ask behind her, but she ignored him and continued walking. “ _Lydia_ ” He tried again, as he caught up with her stride.

“I’m cold, and I want to go home,” She said, wishing he would just shut up for once. 

Her frustration must’ve been evident in her tone, because she saw him wince and retract an arm that had been reaching for her.

“I’m _sorry_ Lydia,”

“You’re always _sorry_ ,” She said, dropping her voice an octave and imitating the cadence of his speech.

“I know, I just--sometimes, I get so angry that I feel like my heart is going to pump itself out of my chest like the chestburster scene in Alien, only significantly less scary and a whole lot more traumatic for everybody involved,” he said, still stupidly whiny and Lydia almost wanted to laugh. Or scream. She couldn’t decide which. “But…” he dragged it out like he didn't want to continue.

Lydia turned around to face him, “Go on.”  
  


“But you’re my BFFFF forever and I don't _want_ you to be mad at me. At all.” 

It wasn’t enough. His apology hardly even classified as an apology. It didn’t mean a thing, and Lydia had the sense that BJ didn’t have the slightest clue how a friendship was supposed to work, seeing as he was operating by third grade rules. This was backed up by the fact that he’d stated multiple--if not dozens--of times that he’d never had a friend before. She should’ve cut him some slack. Probably. But she didn’t, she just kept walking.

This time, BJ didn’t interrupt, didn’t drag his feet either. He followed behind in silence, save for the sound of gravel shifting. 

Lydia chose to take the back route to the house, in order to minimise the chances of getting caught sneaking BJ back up into the attic. She left him a little out of sight, at the top of the hill the house was situated on, and went to go check the coast was clear. 

A little to her chagrin, she immediately noticed that the house was completely silent, and a note was pinned to the fridge. On it was Delia's unmistakable loopy cursive:

_Lydia, I think we have finally found a place that sells banana blossom, so Charles is taking us. He says you need to stop sneaking out, but I told him you are still soul searching. Expect to hear about it when we are back! Delia x_

"You own a phone," Lydia said to no one in particular, scrunching up the note in her fist.

She went back to find BJ, still a little breathless from the steep climb back to the house, but right where she had left him. As she approached, he looked a little surprised she had even come back for him at all. 

“House is empty. You can use my shower, I’ll use dad’s,” She informed him, deliberately keeping any emotion out of her voice to tell him clearly that she was _still very much mad at him._

He seemed to get the message, because he just nodded at her, looking all too much like a kicked puppy. She tried not to care, and turned back to the house, immediately kicking off her muddy boots and peeling the wet socks off her feet as soon as she crossed the threshold. The relief was immediate, and she couldn’t help but feel her mood improve, if only slightly. 

She left him at the bottom of the stairs, thinking only about the hot shower that awaited her. He followed her, still silent, and they parted as she went into her parent’s master bedroom to use their bathroom. 

⁂

She found him curled up on the couch in the attic. He didn't look like he had taken up her offer for a shower, because she could still see the smear of dirt on his nose, but he had at least changed out of the muddy sweatpants for the pair of jeans he had originally shown up in. When she entered, he sat up suddenly, clearly not expecting her.

“I thought you were--”  
  


“I don't want to talk about it,” Lydia replied, effectively cutting him off. 

BJ shot her a look of surprise and she held up her camera in response. “I’m only here to develop my photos. You can stay as long as you promise not to screw anything up.” 

He blinked at her in a way that said _“well, where the fuck else do you want me to go?”_ If she was feeling kinder, she’d have reminded him the whole house was empty, he could go anywhere his heart desired; it wasn’t like she gave a shit either way. Instead, she began slowly measuring out the chemicals she would need. It was a delicate process, and the last thing she wanted was BJ interrupting her.

BJ made it roughly five minutes before he spoke up. 

“I'm starving,” he said. “And no offense but--” he cut himself off. “Nothing, nevermind.”

She glanced over at him to see that he’d gone from what was essentially a step above napping to hanging upside down with his head halfway off the couch. He didn’t look quite so sad anymore, which, it wasn’t like she hadn’t known this exact thing was going to happen. One thing was for certain with BJ: He never stayed angry for long. 

“What is it?” she asked. Sue her for being curious. 

“Your magic photo science chemicals kinda smell like ass. But not like, regular ass, more like post-taco-bell ass, you feel me?”

Not what she’d been expecting. 

"You're so gross," Was the only response she could come up with.

"You're only just figuring that out?"

"No, I figured it out when I got my laptop back off you Wednesday. Please learn what an incognito tab is," She was barely suppressing a smile, “And you’ve smeared barbeque sauce so deeply into that sofa cushion it's probably _never_ coming out.”

He flopped over into a sitting position and moved the blanket to cover the stain. Lydia pretended not to notice, going back to the task at hand. Nothing was said for a while, the only sound being from Lydia’s work, and BJ’s nervous fidgeting. She didn’t have to glance over to know he was staring at her. She could feel his eyes on her back.

“How did you know?” BJ asked, voice unsteady, “Um, that you were…”

“I told you, I don’t want to talk about it,” She said, not knowing why the hell he wanted to bring this up again.

“Right. I know…” He said, in a way that Lydia knew he wasn’t going to drop it, “It’s just, you said people can tell. And, uh, I don’t know if… I mean, I’m not good at knowing what people are thinking so I…” This time, Lydia _did_ glance over to him, and he was scratching at his arms as he rambled, clearly struggling to articulate his thoughts even more than usual, “But my mom is good at it, and she said she _knew_ and that’s why I had to leave.”

Lydia pictured the BJ from one week ago; not that there was much difference except maybe he was a little scruffier, smelling more like cigarettes. The look in his eyes was the same now as it had been then. She imagined him facing his mother with those same uncertain eyes as he watched her tear his world apart, and for the first time Lydia understood.

"She kicked you out for being..."

"I'm not," he was quick to say. He looked at her and then at the floor and then he let out a breath of air he'd been holding for who knew how long. "Or I am. Kind of. I _know_ I like girls. I mean, I dunno, they're soft? And they all have really nice hair. And they smell like those weird small hand sanitizers they carry around, you know? Who wouldn’t like that?”

It felt rude to interrupt, so Lydia nodded along.

“But sometimes I… I dunno, get all these other feelings,” He scrunched up his nose, and Lydia wondered whether he was going through the same thing she did earlier, where _saying it out loud makes it real,_ “Like, boys can be good too, you know? They’re like, tall, and funny, and nice to look at.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

"Yeah. I tried to _not_ think about it. But it's like… Like you said, people can just _tell._ And," He was still scratching at his arms, and Lydia wanted to tell him to stop, "First, it was just people at school, and they already hated me, so it didn't matter. But then my mom found out too and everything went to shit. And if I just knew _how_ they found out I could hide it better."

“You don't have to,” Lydia said. “Hide it. I mean. Not around me.”  
  
She stood up, abandoning her task, and came over to sit beside him. In the back of her head, part of her noted that BJ--and by extension the blanket--smelt somewhat like wet dog. She ignored it in favour of nudging his shoulder in a half-hearted attempt to get him to stop scratching. 

BJ blinked at her, digging his nails into his palms instead, and Lydia decided it was an improvement.

"Look," Lydia continued, "I'm not _Delia._ I'm not a life coach, if that's even a real job, I don't know how to tell you how to act, or think, or anything like that. And I don’t want to. But one thing I do know is that there’s no point in trying to please people like that; you think they’re going to care if you--”

“Stop being such a fucking freak all the time?” He said it with the air of someone who was repeating something they’d been told on countless occasions, in a voice that wasn’t quite his. 

“Exactly. It’s better to not even bother with that crap in the first place.”

"But I want people to _like_ me," He made a face like he knew exactly how pathetic that sounded.

Lydia shrugged. “You can’t make everyone happy.” 

He still wasn’t convinced. “Yeah, but--”  
  


“ _Yeah._ So you agree, it’s pointless.” He was hanging on to her every word now, whether she liked it or not. And it was times like these that made Lydia stop and ask herself how the fuck she’d ended up in this position. Attempting to talk what might have possibly been the least well-adjusted seventeen-year-old boy on the planet through an identity crisis. “And anyway,” she said, “we’re friends, aren't we? I don't think you’re a freak.”

“Best friends?” BJ dropped his hands to his lap. 

“Sure.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lydia: I should've left you on that street corner where I found you
> 
> Beej: But'cha DIDN'T.


End file.
